


Sick

by shlaura



Series: Pretty Little Destiels [12]
Category: Supernatural
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-28
Updated: 2013-03-28
Packaged: 2017-12-06 18:05:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/738563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shlaura/pseuds/shlaura
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Their baby girl is sick for the first time and Castiel is as miserable as she is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sick

”Dean,” Castiel said, his tone pleading, the bags under his eyes threatening to take over his entire face, tears almost falling over the brim of his eyes. 

“Cas, Jesus Christ go to bed! I can handle this. You look like death, and I’ve met him so I would know.”

Cas makes a little whining noise in his throat that would be a complaint if he had the energy to complain. 

Dean is gently swaying their 9 month old daughter, pressing her to his chest, knowing how the rhythm of his heart always calms her. She has been crying for six hours straight now with no end in sight. At the very least the fever has broken. Dean looks at the clock on the wall, checking for the tenth time in the last half hour if it’s too soon to give her the baby aspirin again. It is. 

“Castiel Winchester,” Dean says in the most fierce whisper he can manage without further upsetting Mary-Ann. “Get your ass in bed or I swear I’ll sleep on the couch for two weeks.”

Cas makes the whining noise again and responds, looking so pitifully miserable that Dean almost laughs. “I can not go to sleep Dean. She’s in pain! I can not alleviate her pain Dean, I do not know what to do with myself.”

“I got this Cas, she’s calming down, see?” 

In fact, Mary’s cries have lessened to occasional whimpers, and sniffles as her tiny fists tighten and loosen rhythmically in Dean’s ratty sleeping t-shirt. 

Cas sighs and nods slightly, not even having the energy to lift his feet as he walks away, merely dragging them along the carpet. Dean watches him go and then turns his attention back to his sick daughter. It seems she’s managed to fall asleep against his chest, but Dean knows better than to put her down. 

Instead he sits down the rocking chair, careful not to jostle the baby. He sits there for the remainder of the night, silently rocking his restless swaddled bundle, and listening to Cas’s steady breathing coming from the other side of the bedroom.


End file.
